


What-If

by Arisusan



Category: Marvel 616, New Mutants (Comics), X-Force (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Movie Night, Well - Freeform, and the writers keep having to come up with excuses, and they're both from pretty Traditional families, because sam's a bit of a deadbeat dad?, fair warning: nothing really outright happens in this yet but You Know What's Going On, so you know how sam and izzy got hitched real fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisusan/pseuds/Arisusan
Summary: Roberto da Costa knows a thing or two about bad parenting and a thing or two about his best friend, oldest friend, and closest friend Sam Guthrie. Sam, for his part, doesn't know a thing, but he can feel that something's not quite right. It takes a weird conversation to get him to start moving forward. Meanwhile, 'Berto is stubbornly stuck in place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wouldn't be publishing this if it weren't for the fact that there are less than 10 fics on here. Ten. You're killing me, folks

End credits scrolled across the flatscreen tv, accompanied by a riff that Roberto quickly muted. The New Mutants' New Movie Night was badly-attended these days, what with everyone scattered all over the country. In fact, they couldn't be certain that theirs was the _real_ movie night. Who knew if Dani had gotten the girls together for a weekly dose of cheesy detective shows and old sitcoms.

So, even if it wasn't the New Mutants' New Movie Night, Sam and Roberto's night had been quiet. Just the sounds of munching on popcorn and the occasional hiss of a diet pop can being opened. The popcorn was gone by now, though a few kernels had probably fallen between the seat cushions, and the pop left in the third can was lukewarm and flat.

There was something hanging over them.

"Sam, can I ask you a question?"

There was a shifting from the blanket nest beside him. Sam's tired face was reflected in the screen, next to his own blank expression.

"Sure, though I've never before known you to ask permission before prying."

"This is different," he insisted.

"What's on your mind?"

"Did you and Izzy ever agree to a schedule? Like, you spend a month on Earth and she's with Joshie in the Empire, and then you're together for a few weeks, or you pass over the baby, or something?"

This caused most of a torso to emerge from the blankets, the head turning to look at him.

"Are you tryin' to say something, Bobby?"

"No. I'm asking because I trust you, and I don't want to chew you out over nothing."

"Okay." Sam sighed, unconsciously putting a hand to the back of his neck. "Thanks. To answer you, we do have an arrangement."

"All right. That's all I needed to know."

Roberto was fully willing to drop it after that, but apparently Sam had something to prove. He stared intently at the side of his head.

"Do you think I'm neglecting my wife?"

"What I _think_ is that my parents spent more time on their work than on each other or me," Roberto said patiently, "And that's part of the reason everything ended so badly."

"You think I'm going to turn out like your parents?"

It finally time to fix Sam with a Look, since he was the one who decided to push the whole thing this far. On movie night, too.

"I don't want you to slip into the same bad habits, even if I know you won't go that far." Sam still looked hurt. "Geez, Sam, I'm just looking out for you."

"I know, I know. I'm—I'll probably go back for a visit soon."

Roberto picked up one of the empty pop cans from the table, crushing it flat as Sam got up to start clearing the dishes.

"A visit?"

Sam slowly wandered over to one side of the room, arms wrapped around a bowl full of napkins and a paper popcorn bag. Pacing without really knowing it.

"Yeah. Can't be too long away, with the current situation."

"Sam, I really, really don't want to be that guy," he said, though he really did, "But Joshie's your kid. You don't 'visit' your kid. I 'visit' your kid, because I'm his cool uncle and I've got an evil megacorporation to manipulate. You're his dad."

Sam wandered back over to the opposite window, absentmindedly picking up more trash as he went.

"What do I do, then? Just…give all this up and pack off to the Shi'ar Empire?"

Oh, boy.

"That's what your mom did."

"But she was born in Kentucky."

Roberto sat forward on the sofa, watching Sam's slow and syrupy movement. Wherever he was going, he wasn't in a hurry.

"Did she have a job?" He demanded. "Did she have any time to have a life outside of you and your five trillion siblings? No. Whether she wanted to or not, the truth is that your momma was workin' full-time raising you, just like you and your dad and your brothers worked in the mine and your sisters did piecework."

"I guess so," muttered Sam. "But I've only got the one kid."

"Exactly! You've got a good job, an education, a wife with an even better job…you're not going to have to break your back. I mean, you can, but you don't have to. You can raise your son in peace, you can get to know your _wife_ and _child_. If you _want_ to."

Sam looked at him, aghast. Great word, that. He'd been wanting to use it, even if he couldn't say it out loud.

"Of course I want to. I'm not—I'd _never_ give him up."

Though Sam didn't get angry right away, his arms clutched tightly at the grease-stained metal bowl.

"I know. But, when you said you had an 'arrangement', did you really think about it? Long-term, I mean?"

"I s'ppose not. We moved into Izzy's quarters, since she can get a better house there than I can here, and then I came down here to help out with the AIM thing, but then…work's just piled up. You know what I mean."

"I know," Roberto said again. He did. He'd heard those words before, quite a few times, from the mouth of a different father.

"I—we—I chat with them at least twice a week. She knows she can say the word, and I'll come back."

"That means that you'll stay here until you can't."

Sam sighed. He was smart, more than most people gave him credit for. It was just that he'd tried not to think about it.

"Space…it's not my home."

"Is it ever going to be your home?"

Sam paused in his Brownian motion somewhere near the fridge.

"I don't know. Should it be?"

Pausing just to make him a bit more uncomfortable, Roberto leaned back and put his feet up on the granite coffee table.

"Up to you, buddy."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything. All I'm saying is, you made a promise," said Roberto. "And not to me."

That seemed to click with something in Sam, or at least it made him turn away, finally tossing the napkins in the compost bin.

"I know you thought about it before you, you know, said yes to her," he conceded. "You'll get yourself together."

Sam took a shaky inhale he could hear from the couch.

"I'm not sure about that."

"Oh, come on, you're fine."

"No, not that—I'm not sure I did enough thinkin'."

Roberto slid to his feet, grabbing a half-full pop can from the coffee table for an excuse to head over to the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

He stuck the glass in the fridge and started tidying, avoiding eye contact with Sam.

"I mean, I decided to marry Izzy. I knew it was going to work. I knew I could be happy with her until one o' the two of us died."

"Doesn't sound so wrong to me."

"It's what dad and momma did."

"And you turned out all right."

More than that, actually.

"I guess. A shotgun wedding is better than none, Bobby, but—but a while back I realized there was somethin' I wanted more. That I shouldn't want. That I can't have. That I prob'ly wouldn't have, even if I wasn't married. I like Izzy, only…"

"You keep wondering 'what if,'" Roberto finished flatly. He set down a stack of dirty dishes by the sink with a final-sounding thud.

So Sam Guthrie loved another woman. He almost, _almost_ hated him for that.

"Yeah. It'll pass."

Because he'd been afraid that he was better than that.

"It had better," he snapped. He bit down the urge to ask who it was. Dani again? Was Tabitha back in town? Or someone new—

It didn't matter, anyway.

"Bobby, is that why you're not seeing anyone?"

That deserved at least a light glare, maybe a glower.

"What?" He asked. "Because I know I'll start avoiding my nonexistent kid because I got a crush?"

"I'm not—look, I didn't mean—I'm asking if you're afraid you'll lose someone else when you choose a partner."

It was a hell of a backhand.

"Are you saying I'd _cheat_ on my partner?"

He glared at Sam, now, though he couldn't say if it was because he was being an ass in general or because he'd hit on his own regrets.

"No, nonono, I just—when you love someone, you don't do it by half measures. Tabs. Amara. Juliana."

"What if I said 'yes'? What difference does it make? This is about you fucking around on Earth with me instead of, I don't know, raising your child or getting a divorce."

Sam didn't answer for a while, leaning against the cabinets, and Roberto didn't ask again. He cleaned the flyers off the kitchen counter and dumped them in the recycling.

"I don't want to break Izzy's heart like that."

"Then don't."

"You make it sound easy."

"It is," Roberto could keep the edge out of his voice and didn't want to, anyway. "Listen, I've never been anyone's first choice since Juliana. I can put myself in Izzy's shoes. If you stay with her, like this, either you'll have to get over yourself or else you'll start to resent her, and trust me, that doesn't end well. If it's that hopeless, then you'll hurt her less if you get out now. Share custody. Co-parent like a couple of average millennial besties, I don't know. Make up your _fucking_ mind."

He paused for a replay at the end of the rant, wincing when it started to drag on. Still, pretty good. Hit on the main points.

"I'm sorry," said Sam, more heavily than he was expecting.

"It's not me who needs the apology, man."

Sam shrugged, then stopped in place.

"No, it is you who needs it."

"What?"

It just about froze him in place, the fear right then. It wasn't—he couldn't—Sam didn't mean it like that.

"I don't really know why," mumbled Sam. "Just felt like it. I'm not that bright, but I've known you long enough to know when I've hurt you."

Roberto scanned him for any hint of understanding.

"We need a drink," he said at length. "And at least one more episode of something trashy."

Sam nodded fervently from across the kitchen.

…

Sam was just about afraid to breathe the air around them, it having turned still and sharp as glass while he'd been distracted. He'd made up some notes, asked Dani to ask Scott some things, asked Doug to ask Remy some things, and talked—well, prayed—to Siryn too. He wasn't about to let this mess up one of the best friendships of his life.

So he and Izzy had sat down with Joshie safely in the care of the Kieu Manhs, and he'd opened his mouth and stuck his foot straight in it.

They hadn't seen each other in a month, and then he'd done this. The 30 seconds of silence since he'd stopped were, cliche enough, starting to seem like hours.

Izzy now finally, finally moved, long limbs rearranging themselves on the sofa.

"You know, I thought I was going to get madder but—this is it." She nodded. "Got anything else to tell me before I start?"

"No, dear, I—you know, I've probably said too much already."

"Well, I think we can make it work. Your X-things, you have a schedule, don't you? We can each have him every other week, unless there's an emergency on either one of our ends. He's used to moving around a lot, so it shouldn't mess him up at all."

"I—if you want to say more than that, you're welcome to it. I realize that I am not being the best husband, or even a good one, right now."

Izzy smiled wryly at him. There was the sense of humour he'd like so much.

"You make a tempting offer, Mister Guthrie, but truth be told—this just hasn't worked out the way I'd planned."

"I'm sorry, Izzy."

She waved a hand at him dismissively.

"Not like that, dear. The Empire—there are times I'm called away on emergency, and I just can't bring myself to leave Joshie with some of the babysitters around here. Don't get me wrong, these are my people, but…I'd feel better if he were with family. I can't raise him here any more than you can raise him there, so I figure the two of us can be as good parents apart as together."

"Bein' a mutant ain't exactly safe these days," Sam warned.

"But you can trust each other. Politics or not, Bobby or Dani or Xuyen or any of you would treat him like their own child, I know that. Here? Not so much. Space is no place for a child right now. Or—or a shotgun marriage."

Sam nearly signed with relief, but at the same time there was something in him that was let down. He loved Izzy—really, truly, even if it wasn't how he had wanted to love her—and he would never want to break her heart, but at the same time, the tiny creatures in the back of his brain felt less…needed. Less necessary. He supposed it was the same in the primal part of her mind, too.

"I think I understand," he stated, or maybe understated.

"Just so that we're clear, because the last thing I want to do is hurt you, Sam—I knew I could love you when I married you. I could spend the rest of my days with you and I would never hate you for it. I would be happy. My Pops would be happy. Your Ma would be happy, and Joshie would have two parents and a good life, you know? This ain't me giving up on you, Sam, just like it ain't you getting tired of me."

Izzy leaned back on the couch as he sat forward in his chair, gingerly feeling out the situation.

"What is is," he started, "Is that it's hard to be as good of a parent and as good of a spouse as I should be, especially with the commute and with us gettin' married so soon."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it." Izzy nodded almost to herself. "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am."

"I'm the one who should apologize. But hey—even if we're not married, Joshie'll still have a father and a brave, funny, wonderful mother. Only we won't start to resent each other for what-ifs and maybes."

"I hope you're right. I hope he does get the two of us, heart and soul."

"He will. I promise."

They met eyes for maybe the first time today, and Sam thought he understood.

Izzy blinked first. "Besides, if we're both tied up, he'll be in good hands with Bobby."

"With—with Bobby?"

"What's wrong? He's not dead, is he? Please tell me he's not dead. There are few enough mutants left."

"No, no," Sam stuttered, "God, no. He's fine and dandy, turning the wheels at AIM."

"There we are, then." Izzy smiled. "We'll be free, and Joshie'll be fine."

…

At the next New Mutants' New Movie Night they could cobble together, Sam decided to try and patch up the remains of the last one. It wasn't like he and Bobby had stopped talking for the month in between, but they'd ignored the argument and just kept on with the usual joshing around.

"So, Bobby, now I've got my stuff sorted, what's on your mind?"

"What do you mean, Sam?"

Reversing the arrangement from the last movie night, Bobby was curled up with a blankie and Sam was sitting back, staring at his own reflection.

"I told you I'd figure out why I needed to say sorry to you."

"Really? You remember that conversation?"

They both laughed a bit.

"Not going to lie," he said, "It weighed on me a bit heavy. Anyway, I had some problems of my own, so I got to thinkin'. I got to thinkin' about you, and maybe I wasn't right about you carrying a torch for someone, and maybe I was, but there is something on your mind. Otherwise you wouldn't be doing so much, well, thinkin'."

Bobby sighed, running a hand through his immaculately coiffed curls.

"May be, dude, may be."

"You can tell me," he pressed on. "You know I support you in all your endeavours."

"Even if it's Izzy?"

That knocked Sam for a loop, jumping a lump up into his throat that he promptly swallowed. He and Izzy were over, and quite happily too.

Besides, what he really wanted was for Bobby to be happy.

"Izzy's her own person, and I can't fault you for doing what you need to."

"Well, good. It's not Izzy, by the way."

The feeling those words stirred up in Sam wasn't a familiar one, and it wasn't easy to pin down either. Relief, yeah, but…not the relief you might expect. Not at all.

"I guessed as much," he said. "Whatever it is, you can trust me."

Bobby shifted position beside him, drawing his knees up under him and pulling the blanket further up.

"Sam, I'm going to be honest—I don't want to tell you. I don't feel comfortable with it, and I'm not going to," he said shortly. "How 'bout we talk about your problems instead, and you grab us a drink and I'll make supportive noises? That's more in my wheelhouse, and I feel like you could use a debrief."

A new lump stuck in Sam's throat, stubbornly refusing to go this time as he stood up and wandered over to the kitchen.

"Yeah, uh, sure. You got any coolers? I'm not in the mood to be keeping up appearances."

"I've got some peach ones 'specially for you. Death to the toxic patriarchy, dude."

Sam nodded awkwardly, rifling through the fridge for a second before pulling out a cooler and a can of iced tea.

"Same as usual?" he asked.

"You got it."

It took another stretch of awkward silence for him to get a single ice cube out of the dispenser and pour the iced tea about halfway up the side of a highball glass.

"Still don't know why you don't just use alcohol instead o' this sugary stuff. Lord knows you can afford it."

"Bad habits, Sam. You know I've got an addictive personality."

"Guess so."

He ambled back over to the couch where Bobby was now flipping through a magazine, going to fast to be properly reading.

"You ready?"

"I dunno."

Bobby put down the magazine, fixing him with some unidentifiable expression.

"If it's that bad—"

"No—no, it's not, not at all, I just—I don't know."

He sighed, then started as Bobby leaned against his shoulder like they used to do, all of them crammed on the old couch in Xavier's living room.

"Take your time, buddy."

Sam took a sip, then another of his drink as the ice slowly melted in Bobby's fake whiskey.

"Well," he started, "You know we didn't mean to have Joshie. We did mean to keep him, once Izzy found out, but—we weren't planning on getting, you know, married until we knew he was coming along."

"You Appalachians and your shotgun weddings."

"Geez, Bobby, you're the only person who's allowed to say that."

"I know."

"Anyway, my Ma said a child should always have two parents, even though she had to do it on her own, and Izzy's Pa always said the same. That way one of you can have a bad day and the other can step in. Or—"

"If one of you dies, Joshie's still got a parent."

"'Xactly. I cared about her, but we were married for Joshie. Only, Cable died and the Empire got tangled up in all sorts of bullshit with the Dark Elves and some gods and all, so we weren't really sticking together all too well. Well, you know. You said it."

"I didn't put it together."

"Maybe you did. You're smart, Bobby, way smarter 'n me."

Sam absentmindedly moved his fingers through Bobby's hair. The inexorable pull of the couch had them slumped over somewhat, Sam still gripping a cooler in his other hand.

"Nah, I just act like it. So, you and Izzy got married so you'd both be there for Joshie, but you couldn't stick together anyway."

"Yeah. I think—she might have realized it before I did. Dunno. I'd have to ask Warbird, or, heck, maybe even you. So I told her it wasn't worth it, keeping ourselves tied up with a promise we couldn't keep. In a few years, maybe, if I know I'm done with the X-Men, we might give it another go, but that's it for now. Split custody, though we'll room together when we can manage it."

"Sounds like you got a good deal out of it."

"Yeah."

"You keep the friendship of a fantastic woman, you're still a father to your son, and you're free to take the love of your choosing, right?"

He shook his head as well has he was able with Bobby tucked into his side.

"Naw, it's not that. I can't just go out and ask someone, 'specially not with all the work I've got."

"I know what you mean. Better to be alone than to be a shit boyfriend, eh?"

"Mmhmm."

Sam finished off his drink, putting it down with a shaky hand.

"I've not been a very good father, have I?"

"Oh, Sam."

"What?"

"There's only one person who can tell you that, and he's three. Besides, you've been there most of the time he's been alive."

"I guess."

"Sam." Bobby spoke his name with a soft edge. "Tell me."

He didn't bother with a deflection. Bobby knew him like he knew himself. Better, even.

"Whenever I'm here, I wish I were there. Whenever I'm there, I—I wish I were here. It's stupid, I know, but…"

"It's like, what was it? 'Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot always be torn in two.'"

Sam sighed again, pulling Bobby closer.

"That's a quote from somewhere."

"John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. Just finished a reread—it's sad, dude."

"He's right, probably, but I'm still going to mope for ten minutes while I'm getting tipsy. How about your problems, now?"

"I won't tell you right now."

"Why not?"

He felt Bobby shrug.

"Don't feel like it."

"You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

It was a trick question. Sam was the one who wasn't sure.

"I just—I want to be sure you know you can trust me."

"I know."

"Good."


	2. Face Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broadly, Sam and Bobby are each having a very different conversation, started by Sam (who has learned a lot of things about himself recently) and Bobby (who is entirely unaware of that fact).

"So, uh, family reunion's coming up this weekend after next."

"That right?"

Rooting around the kitchen for something to do, something to take his mind off the actual situation, Sam eventually decided on running the tap and starting on a few of Bobby's old dishes.

"Yeah. Nothin' much critical going on in the family politics, but…"

Bobby waved a hand in the air without looking away from his magazine, relaxed on the expensive leather couch that showed the wear and tear of a few raucous movie nights.

"Far be it from me to keep you from your family."

By the time Sam noticed he'd lifted his hand to the back of his neck, it was too late to remove it without looking awkward. It stayed there for the time being.

"Well, I was thinking, with Iz being on call and Joshie with us, you could come along? I mean, Paige'll be there too. And if I show up alone, well, I still haven't really told Ma about the whole separation thing, and if she's distracted, then…" He realized he was rambling. Time to get back on track, Sam, come on, you've practiced this. "Well, I'm gonna be facing the mother of all—I mean, there's gonna be a hell of some parental censure if I show up with just me 'n the baby. Plus, I might need someone to watch him of a night or two."

There. Good. An excuse, and it wasn't like this was the first Guthrie Family Event that he and Bobby had been to. Nor the second, third, fourth…yeah. The soap in the dishwater had gotten into some of his hangnails and the tiny cuts on the backs of his hands, distracting him at least a little bit.

"Sorry, but I've got a date."

He glanced over at the couch, where Bobby still read that darned magazine. Probably the best for him.

"Ha ha, very funny. Look, I know it's not ideal, but I really need you there. I swear, Ma knows you were never anywhere near Jay when—"

Now, Bobby finally looked at him with a mildly exasperated look, but on the fond side of things. He hoped.

"I'm not joking, Sam. I've met someone."

Not Tab, he knew, not Amara, nor any of the new mutants. The newer mutants. Siryn was off the table, and besides, if it were any of their old teammates he'd have thought at least one of them would'a told him. Doreen was far too young for him.

"If Dani's called you in for a team meeting,"he joked feebly, "It doesn't count as a date."

The magazine went down, and Sam realized he'd made a mistake.

"Would you stop and take things seriously for five minutes? I'm telling you that there's someone I like a lot, and I'm not going to tag along to your embarrassing family function." Frustration crystallized on the edges of Bobby's words, sharp and serrated.

"I'm sorry."

Chastened, Sam turned back to the dishes. Whatever had gotten caked on the ceramic baking dish wasn't coming off easily.

"Anyway, I won't be coming."

"Can—can I ask who it is?"

"Sure. Songbird."

God _damnit_. He knew he'd missed one of the girls.

"Screaming Mimi?"

"She hasn't gone by that name in a while."

The air must've gotten colder with all the chill in Bobby. Something he'd said, somehow, it'd been the wrong thing to say, and now all he could do was put some more elbow into the scrubbing and hope it kept them from making eye contact.

"Oh. Uh. Well, I hope y'all have a good time. Uh, you know, if it means something, I do think she likes you."

"I should hope so; it's our fifth date."

He could tell Bobby had gotten up and started walking over to him, seeing him out of the corner of his eye and just feeling the eyes that could never escape his notice.

"There any reason you didn't tell me sooner?"

As Bobby leaned against the counter beside him, he realized that he was now out of dishes. Darn.

"Is there a reason I should have?"

The water ran over his hands, washing the last of the soap into the sink.

"Nothing, it's just—"

Bobby rounded on him, angry.

"Did you think I'd always be here, waiting?"

Their eyes met, and right then Sam felt like they understood each other just enough to wish they didn't.

"Not waiting, no," he said quietly.

"But you really thought I was here for you."

"I—it— _I_ was here for _you_. You're my best friend."

It wasn't right, how Bobby smiled at that. His face just split open and—and _lifted_ , it didn't smile, didn't smirk, didn't look anything like it should've.

"Friend, eh?"

"Best friend." Sam set his jaw, slipping into the stubbornness that had kept his siblings and teammates in line all those years.

"What difference does it make? Just—never mind. You probably shouldn't say more, since I don't think I want to hear it."

As Bobby tried to turn and walk away, Sam grabbed his shoulder and forced them to face each other once again.

"I should, because you're not getting it! I just don't know what the words are—you're my best friend, you're my closest friend, I've lived a good part of my life with you and—God damn me—I was willing to die with you! Don't you know what that means? Don't you understand what you mean to me?"

His voice broke; his grip didn't.

"Like I said," Bobby shot back, "You made one promise in your life, one big, unbreakable promise—and maybe you didn't keep it, but you still _made_ it—and it wasn't. To. Me. I'm only your family when you feel like it."

"I did make you a promise."

"Really? What were the vows? Where was the ring? Crying parents, screaming children—you gave your life to Izzy! I don't mind that it's not me—well, maybe I do, a little—but own it, man! It's not the same thing. Don't act like it is."

At last, Bobby managed to shove him off and backed away, not before shooting him a hurt glare.

"No," he agreed. "But I still said that I support you in all your endeavours."

"And you're saying that's bigger than a wedding."

Now, Bobby was pacing up and down the room, nearly vibrating with the same desperate energy that Sam felt.

"No. I'm just saying that it's a promise I intend to keep—just tell me what you want. Or—or, no, tell me what you _need_."

They locked eyes for a long moment, Sam almost reaching forward and Bobby staring at him with such a wild cocktail of emotions that Sam couldn't start to unpack it.

"Samuel Guthrie," Bobby said at last, biting into each word like he wanted them to stop coming out. "I have loved you for ten years of my life and I am sick of hanging around, dating my old friends and hanging back behind you even though _I'm_ the one who's led the Avengers, I'm the one running an international spy agency, I'm the one who's good-looking, god damnit. I'm not going to be your plus one helper guy to awkward social events when you can't even stay faithful to the woman you _married_. I'm done. I may be your best friend, but I'm done being your sidekick. I like Melissa, and who knows? Maybe I'll end up loving her."

In all of that, there was only one thing that really sank in.

"That's what I said to myself," Sam said absently.

"What?"

He picked the next words one by one, not really knowing where they'd lead.

"I said 'that's what I said to myself.' You know. When I married Izzy."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Somehow, Bobby attempted a full-body eyeroll. That put Sam in far more comfortable territory, enough to try approaching him again.

"You love me, but you're trying to move on."

Though Bobby never tried to move away as Sam got closer, he did put everything he could into his glare.

"Fuck you, Sam."

"And I love you, and I tried, I did, but I couldn't move on."

" _Fuck_ you." Bobby pointed an accusatory finger at him, opening his mouth for another tirade, but he managed to catch him in time.

"Would you just listen to me, Bobby?"

"I heard you." Sunspot might not have been invulnerable, but his voice had to be hard enough to snap iron. "If you try to lie to me like that again, Sam, we're done."

"Jesus Christ, it's not a lie!" Sam raised his hands helplessly, stopping inches away. "I love you. An'—an' you just about told me you loved me, so even if we don't want to do this right now, at least we both know."

With that he could only watch, and wait, and take whatever Bobby gave him. They were close enough that he nearly felt each of his movements as Bobby breathed in, then out, then reached out so slowly it didn't feel real and tugged him forward by the collar. He let his head fall to Sam's chest, holding him close.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

Tentatively, Sam wrapped his arms around his—around Bobby.

"That's a start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, written and edited late at night, but clarification on motives and subtext
> 
> \- Roberto resents Sam (even though he knows it's unreasonable) both for never addressing or acknowledging his feelings (even though he knows Sam probably didn't know) and for separating Izzy (upbringing in a broken home in a very Catholic nation--also, now that Sam's available he feels even worse about his own perceived cowardice)  
> \- Sam only just got over his compulsory heterosexuality and realized there was a reason he's been life partners with Roberto since the age of 18  
> \- Roberto may or may not be dating Melissa (or just making that up), but if he is, it's not comphet so much as trying to get the heck over a persistent crush  
> \- Sam is trying to start moving his relationship with Roberto in a certain direction, but Roberto thinks that he's using him as an extra body when it's convenient because Izzy isn't around  
> \- This conversation happens at night and probably after a drink or two on Sam's part

**Author's Note:**

> In case this was a bit messy, which it is:
> 
> Berto loves Sam and knows he loves him, but never told him about it because he, as usual, didn't want to ruin what they had. However, his cowardice ended up with Sam married to Izzy, which he hates and which he hates that he hates. It's one thing when your best friend slash soulmate is screwing a teammate, but it's a whole 'nother thing when they get married and have a kid. At the same time, Berto needs Sam to be a good husband and a good father and will yell at him if necessary, because his own daddy issues have instilled in him the need for a proper family environment.
> 
> Conversely, Sam loves Berto and is too up the ass of the heteronormative nuclear family to realize it. He knows that he feels weird about marrying Izzy, he knows that he wants Joshie to have two loving parents, he knows that he wants to make his Ma happy, but he's a dumb 20-year-old and didn't think through the permanence of marriage. Ditto Izzy--Sam's a good boy and a good catch, but spending a lifetime commuting from space? For a guy you liked but barely knew? 
> 
> Anyway, I don't mind Sam/Izzy and I quite like Izzy, but you can't deny that Sam's first loyalties are to the X-Men in general and to Roberto in particular.


End file.
